Vanilla and Citrus
by xNomii
Summary: SB/MM - Life is filled with complications. It doesn't stop turning at times of war. It might just spin even faster than before. And then you're even at risk of falling off. For Rainbowdust.


**Vanilla and Citrus  
**_Written for Rainbowdust, one of my bestest friends whom I love dearly. It is a quite late birthday present, but I do hope she still likes it. Thank you, Shira Lansys for the beta!_

* * *

_**Vanilla and Citrus**  
_

_I._

She smells like vanilla, vanilla and citrus. And he can't get enough. It's addictive, everything is addictive in times like these. He knows he shouldn't let himself get attached, especially not in times like these.

But he fears he might already be too late.

His hips snap forward as he pushes into her. Her moans are like a drug to him. Her nails reek down his back, surely leaving marks on the pale skin, but he doesn't care.

He moves faster, the sharp tang of sex tainted the air. His hands are placed next to her head on the pillow, her legs wrapped around his waist as he moves faster and faster. His breath is coming in heavy pants, and hers is coming in irregular intervals.

He can't stop now, he knows he's close. He knows she's close. For one quick moment, he realizes he has forgotten the spells. The spells he always uses, he forgot them in his haste to be with her. To be inside of her. To smell that smell, to feel her around him. He forgot them. But he immediately dispels the thought of anything being wrong. He doesn't see it as a possibility.

And then she's coming, tightening around him, her heat drawing the orgasm out of him as he cries out in pleasure, their moans echoing around them.

He collapses on top of her, using the last strength in his arms to keep himself from crushing her. To keep himself from cutting off her air supply.

She's breathing heavily, and he can still feel her body twitching under his own. Of course he can, he's Sirius Black. He can even make girls like Marlene McKinnon lose their mind. He rolls over so that he's now lying next to her.

"Don't go," she whispers, her small hands curling around his wrist in a desperate gesture for him to stay.

He doesn't go.

He allows her to curl up on his chest, both still naked. Her skin is smooth against his own. Her breathing is warm against his chest. His arm goes around her waist almost automatically, holding her in place.

He loses himself in vanilla and citrus.

* * *

_II._

She says she has something to tell him. That is why she is coming over after the Order Meeting. He floo's to his flat first, she follows directly after.

He asks if she wants to sit, but she tells him she'd rather remain standing. He shrugs and starts walking towards a place to sit down himself. Because unlike her, he'd rather not remain standing.

She doesn't wait for him to face her again before telling him.

His heart nearly stops when she tells him. He falls back onto the couch, breathing heavily, as he stares at her fragile face, painted with tears. Her hand is cradling her belly; her curly hair is dancing around her head in perfect curls.

"You're certain?" he asks her, and she nods. He sees her swallow.

He just sits there, staring at her as a million thoughts run through his head. The danger, the fear of getting attached, the pain of losing. All of it, tearing him apart. Limb by limb by limb. She doesn't move, doesn't even breath.

Finally, _finally; _ he gets up. His hand runs through his dark hair as he takes a deep breath.

He walks towards her, takes her head into his large hands, covering both her cheeks as he wipes away her tears. He leans close, pressing his dry and chapped lips to her soft and plump ones. One second, two seconds, more seconds go by as they stand there unmoving, finding comfort in each other's lips.

Then he pulls back.

"It's going to be okay. Everything will be okay," he whispers, pulling her small frame against his chest. Her head nuzzled into his shirt, and for this one time, he didn't care her tears were soaking the fabric.

He buries his nose into her familiar smelling hair, trying to lose himself into the familiar scent, but it doesn't work.

Probably because he's Sirius Black, and he's now the father of Marlene's McKinnon's child. Her unborn child, safely hidden away in her belly, protected only by her porcelain skin.

His baby.

* * *

_III._

He's not breathing. How can he breathe. They tell him. Mary McDonald and Dorcas Meadows are talking, they're standing in his living room and talking, but he can't hear them anymore. He doesn't want to hear them anymore. So he starts yelling.

"Get out! Both of you! Get out!" he bites at them, picking up a vase that was standing on the table next to the couch. He threw it at them, but he missed. It shattered into pieces on the wall instead.

They apparate out, and he breaks down. He realizes that the vase he threw, had been hers, and he loses it. He starts firing spells at every item he sees. Hers, his, he doesn't care. Soon his house is nothing but a ruin of what it once was.

The furniture is ruined, half of the place is covered by feathers that came from the fluffy pillows on the couch and the room smelled like fire.

Even her scent was gone now.

He places both hands on the wall and lets out a heart-wrenching sob, kicking at the hard stone before he slumps to the floor.

His head thumped into the wall, but he doesn't feel the pain. Nothing can get through the mind-numbing pain he already feels. He cries, for longer than he can imagine. For the first time in his entire life, he cries.

Until he runs out of tears.

He is Sirius Black, he is supposed to be able to handle this. But even Sirius Black can't handle the death of Marlene McKinnon.

Even Sirius Black can't handle the death of his unborn son.

Even Sirius Black can't handle the fact that in one night, they robbed him of his entire family.

Because no one can handle that.

Not even Sirius Black.


End file.
